Articles liés à Under Control
Extrait
Monday, 10th May 2004
The living room was packed out with furniture. Gary’s bed was pushed against the wall under the window. He’d made a little alcove using the wardrobe and chest of drawers.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Nigel.
‘I’ve brought everything in here to make the decorating easier.’
‘Let me see the building site then,’ said Nigel.
He trailed Gary through the hall and into the empty bedroom. He noticed the curtains had been taken down. A stepladder leaned against the window frame. There was a bin bag in the middle of the floor. It had wallpaper scrapings coming out of the top.
Nigel walked to the far corner and picked up a can of paint. It had been sitting next to a roller and tray and some brushes.
‘So it’s going to be white?’ he asked.
‘It sure is,’ said Gary with a nod. ‘And,’ he added, ‘I got this to finish it off.’ He pulled a giant paper lantern from the cupboard. It was folded flat in a clear plastic bag.
‘Classy,’ said Nigel, with one hand on the windowsill.
‘Superior decorating is about accessories,’ said Gary, like he’d heard it on the television. Nigel rested his hands on his hips.
‘True,’ he said.
Gary put the lantern away and walked back to the living room.
‘So when do you expect to be finished?’ asked Nigel to Gary’s back.
‘I don’t know. A week or something.’
‘This place is coming on,’ said Nigel, ‘You’re doing fantastic when you think that this time last year you were sleeping in a car park.’
‘You’ve helped me a lot,’ Gary said, looking into Nigel’s eyes.
‘I’m just doing my job,’ said Nigel to the floor. ‘You’ve done most of the work yourself.’
‘It’s good to have you though.’
Nigel swept a cushion on the couch with his hand, and then sat down. ‘So is everything else all right?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ said Gary.
‘Are your tablets suiting you?’
‘They’re OK. I’m finding it hard to read though.’
‘Seems like you’re doing all right to me,’ said Nigel, pointing to a pile of broadsheets in the corner. ‘I struggle to work my way through those papers.’
‘I can read,’ said Gary as he scratched his chin, ‘but I find it difficult to concentrate.’
‘That’s an unfortunate side effect.’
‘It’s more than that,’ said Gary, eyes angry.
‘It could be worse,’ said Nigel in his calming voice. ‘Remember how you felt when you stopped taking them?’
‘I went a bit mental,’ said Gary, laughing. ‘I thought the whole world was against me.’
‘It wasn’t so funny at the time.’
‘It is now though,’ said Gary. His eyes tried to pull Nigel into complicity, but Nigel avoided it by adjusting the straps on his bag.
‘Do you want a fag?’ asked Gary, nodding at his tobacco.
‘I need to get going,’ said Nigel.
‘You’re a busy man.’
‘I’ll come and see you on Wednesday.’
*
When he left I went to the window and watched him walk down the garden path. He opened his car and dropped the bag onto the passenger seat. Then he got in and pulled the door closed. He looked up and I waved to him, but I don’t think he saw me because he didn’t wave back.
I went into the kitchen where I had some sheets of cardboard. I dragged them through to the bedroom. I got the net curtain and hung that back up. Then I tacked the cardboard over the window, flush with the wall. It took all three sheets to cover it.
When it was done I went outside to the garden. I looked up to my window and all I could make out was the net curtain, nothing looked unusual. I nodded to myself, satisfied the neighbours couldn’t see what I was up to.
*
Nigel pushed through a pair of double doors into the office. Along the edge of the wall stood banks of filing cabinets. He drew his fingers along them as he walked to his desk.
Wendy looked up as he approached. ‘Morning,’ she said. ‘Did you have a nice weekend?’
‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘Sarah took me out for dinner yesterday. How was yours?’
‘Over too quickly.’
‘What did you get up to?’
‘Just spent time with the kids,’ she said as she thumbed through a service directory. ‘Had much on this morning?’
‘Just a visit with Gary.’
‘How did it go?’ she asked.
‘Really well,’ said Nigel as he pulled his diary out and opened it on his desk.
‘I’m glad,’ she said with a nod.
‘He’s starting to put a lot more work into his flat.’
‘That’s good,’ she said.
‘He did seem kind of intense,’ he said and Wendy looked up from the directory.
‘Do you think he’s complying?’
‘I hope so.’
‘Remember the last time?’ she asked, chewing on her pencil. ‘You should inform Probation if you've got suspicions.’
*
I took a breath and opened the airing cupboard. It was filled with books and bits of notepad. It was even more stacked than what I thought it would be.
I get most of my books from charity shops. There were piles of them in there. All at odd angles with bits of paper flopping out between them. On the top shelf my folders were stacked neatly. Three of them had a title on the spine. Philosophy, Politics, Psychology. The three Ps, my fields of interest.
I’d leave them out on shelves but sometimes it’s best to keep that sort of stuff hidden. Sometimes they take it as an excuse to nut you off.
Mr Johnson’s lack of acceptance with his current living situation was reflected in his grandiose attempts at self-education.
The other folder was black. It had nothing written on the spine. I pulled it out and sat with it on the couch. I opened it on my lap and flicked through until I came to the page with the finished diagram of the model. I tried to work out exactly how I was going to build it.
*
Nigel bent over the application form on his desk. It was to fund a new bed for Gary. He wrote an accompanying statement saying a grant would greatly increase his patient’s quality of life. Then he finished by ticking a confidentiality box and signing on a dotted line. He stood up and put it in a brown envelope. He walked to the end of the office and dropped it in the mail bin.
He looked at his watch. Ten o’clock. He went back to his chair and picked up his bag.
‘You off?’ asked Wendy.
‘I’m afraid so,’ he said with a smile. ‘Sorry to leave you on your own.’
He started his car and clicked a tape into the machine. As he drove through the city he passed an old man pushing a shopping trolley. It was filled with plastic bags, all his life in a wire cage. There was a broom handle sticking out of the corner with a pair of underpants on it like a flag.
‘Where will it end?’ asked Nigel as he looked at the man.
He came to a hill with a block of flats at the top. It looked like the mansion of a Transylvanian count, waiting for the night to disgorge its inhabitants onto the world.
Nigel pulled into the parking bay. He clicked the stereo off and took a few breaths. He could see Ralph at his window with a cigarette in his hand. Nigel entered the hallway and climbed the stairs. When he got to the top, he knocked on the door. Ralph opened it. ‘Come in,’ he said.
‘How are you?’ asked Nigel as he followed Ralph inside.
‘Not good.’
‘What’s happened?’ asked Nigel as he sat on the couch. He crossed his legs. He placed his hands together on his knee and looked around the living room. The place had the overcrowded feel of a pensioner’s. Someone who once lived in a big house but due to the departure of children and the financial constraints of old age had moved somewhere smaller. Only this was the largest flat Ralph had ever lived in.
Everywhere was tinted orange from nicotine. The smell of cigarettes vied with the aroma of meat fat but neither was dominant. Ralph smelt of unwashed clothes. His fingers looked dirty.
He took a while to compose himself. He arranged the ashtray on the arm of his chair. He opened his pouch and started to roll a fag. In between these movements he looked at Nigel as if he was about to say something then he resumed his actions. Nigel expected this so took his time to relax and scan the flat for signs of difference. Finally Ralph lit his cigarette.
‘I’ve got a confession to make,’ he said through an exhalation of smoke. Nigel nodded and made an encouraging noise. Ralph continued.
‘I’ve been using again.’
‘That’s a shame,’ said Nigel as he watched the changing expressions on his patient’s face. ‘You must be in a lot of pain,’ he said and Ralph nodded through watery eyes. Nigel brushed a speck from his jeans. ‘How did it happen?’ he asked.
Ralph looked at the Famous Grouse Whisky mirror then at the window. ‘I don’t know,’ he said in a rush. ‘I just bumped into a guy and we bought some gear.’
‘Have you got a habit again?’
‘Just about.’
‘What am I going to do with you?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Ral...
Revue de presse
“Those who like Welsh’s novels are likely to enjoy Under Control. . . . McNay powerfully conveys the way in which the need to feed a drug habit dominates the lives of addicts. . . . As a picture of life on the margins of society it is compassionate and understanding.”
— The Scotsman
“McNay has a strong sense of his creation’s personalities . . . [he] doesn’t provide an obvious target for the reader’s sympathies. Each member of the troika possesses a queasy combination of good intentions and selfish scheming . . . it’s a story, simply observed and viscerally rendered. Norwich may never be the same again.”
— Sunday Herald (UK)
From the Trade Paperback edition.
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